Those bantering Blues

Let’s set the scene: It’s my first day at work in Sydney. It’s cold. Bloody cold. A technician is working on the air conditioning in my office.

I am feeling a little cocky because it’s State of Origin week and the boys in maroon have just taken home the beans.

“Honestly mate,” I say. “If you can’t fix it, I won’t be worried. I’m from Queensland, so I won’t mind the warmth.”

You know how it goes: Beautiful one day; perfect the next.

“Ah,” he replies from the top of his ladder, head peering from a hole in the roof. “So you don’t use your indicators, then.”

What my driving skills had to do with a quip about the weather, I still don’t know.

But he continued:

“Every time I go to Queensland, nobody uses their blinkers. How the hell do they know when anybody’s turning?

“No offence. My father’s a Queenslander and he doesn’t use his indicators either.”

Funny. I could have sworn I knew the bloke – his father, that is.

And I’d seen him driving the streets of Parramatta that very morning – with New South Wales number plates.

Interstate traits and perceptions are an interesting thing.

We all know Tasmanians don’t really have two heads or six fingers.

We all know not all Victorians are tight, brandishing long pockets, reluctant to part with a shout at the bar.

We all know South Australians don’t eat crows.

Yep, there’s nothing more Australian than a good banter. And nothing better than a good yarn to provoke it.

And in this case, the air-conditioning guy had notched up a solid victory.

Growing up, we all knew that these big-city folk carried an air of big-brother-like arrogance – particularly those from Sydney.

So I’m keen folks – keen to provide my small-town roots with some ammunition to fight back.

What are the traits of the New South Welsh?

What wit can I inject when next confronted with the need for a quirky comeback?